


spinning 'round me

by DizzyRedhead



Series: 600 Follower Giveaway [4]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Boys In Love, Coping Mechanisms, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Soft Hockey Boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 22:26:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10318424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: Derek isn't okay, but it's fine. He knows how to cope.Contains descriptions of anxiety and a character very nearly having a panic attack. Please consider your own mental health while reading.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedVioletRivulet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedVioletRivulet/gifts).



> Written as part of my 600 follower giveaway on Tumblr, for redvioletrivulet who requested dexnursey and clothes stealing. This may not be exactly what you had in mind, but I hope you like it anyway!!!
> 
> Title from ["Heavy" by Linkin Park Ft. Kiiara](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5dmQ3QWpy1Q) because I've been really struggling with anxiety lately and it really resonated with me.
> 
> Big thanks as always to raspberrycordial and ahausonfire for being the best enablers/cheerreaders ever. Thanks also to shellybelle for being excited for this story; it's not 20k, but I hope you like it :D

_ I know I'm not the center of the universe  
But you keep spinning 'round me just the same _

 

Derek takes the stairs to the attic two at a time, doing his best to ignore the tightness in his chest, the stinging in his eyes. He’d left his earbuds in all across campus so he’d have an excuse to ignore any attempts to pull him into conversation. They stand him in good stead now. 

He feels like a dick for pretending he doesn’t hear Chowder’s cheerful greeting, but he can’t, he can’t. He’ll end up sobbing on the roof for no apparent reason, and he’s done that too many times already this semester. The last thing he needs is to have Ransom and Holster Skyping in, or, God forbid, Shitty or Jack, just to deal with his anxious ass. 

A little time. A little time alone, and he’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

The attic door closes behind him. It’s a relief and it isn’t. He doesn’t have to pretend now, doesn’t have to shove everything down lest his chill mask crack into a thousand pieces. But without that motivation, everything comes bubbling up, like lava when the pressure is too much. It’s going to blow.

Fortunately, he knows how best to mitigate the damage (unfortunately it’s because this has happened so often lately, but whatever). He has a routine, he has a system. Dex won’t be back from class for another couple of hours; by then everything will be back to normal.

Derek claws himself out of his clothes, tossing them at the laundry hamper because he doesn’t know if he can handle Dex looking disappointed at him today. Once he’s down to his boxer briefs and socks, he crosses to the dresser and opens it, looking for what he needs.

Dex’s Flogging Molly t-shirt is almost worn out, soft with a million washes. It stretches slightly around Derek’s biceps, it’s a little loose in the shoulders now that Dex has filled out. But for all that, it smells like him, like his detergent and the body wash he uses here at the Haus. Derek pulls it down over his stomach and feels like he can take a deep breath for the first time in an hour. 

Dex’s sweatpants aren’t as soft, but they’re still a comfort, no zippers or buttons or scratchy seams. Derek pulls them on and grabs the last thing he needs, crawling into the corner of his bunk, making a nest out of pillows,  and curling up so he can get all of his body under the afghan Dex’s grandma had crocheted for him. 

He’s still shaking, but he’s warm, surrounded by softness, and everything smells like Dex. If you’d told Derek four years ago that he’d be using an overly dramatic, unchill white boy for comfort he would have made himself sick laughing. But that was before Dex blew into his life like a nor-easter, all sound and fury. Derek learned a long time ago not to look a gift coping mechanism in the mouth, so he lies there and lets some of the tears fall, trying to bleed off enough emotional pressure to get through the rest of the day.

When the attic door opens, it startles him so much that he nearly hits his head when he jumps. It’s Dex, of course it’s Dex, back almost two hours early, because Derek can’t catch a single  _ fucking _ break today.

“Class was canceled,” Dex says when he sees Derek, slinging his backpack onto the hook he’d installed next to the door, dropping his Samwell snapback on top of it. “Professor got sick; I guess the flu’s still going around--”

He stops short when he gets close enough to see Derek, because whatever else you can accuse William Jacob Poindexter of, he’s incredibly observant. “Nursey? Is everything okay?”

Derek shrugs, rubbing the soft yarn of the afghan between his fingers. “No big,” he says, because Dex isn’t moving. “Just needed some time alone.”

“Oh--okay,” Dex says, stumbling over the words a little, his ears turning pink. “I can take my stuff down to the kitchen.”

He turns toward the door and Derek lets out a long exhale, still shaking a little with the effort of putting his masks back up so quickly. 

Dex stops in his tracks after two steps.  _ Please,  _ Derek begs mentally.  _ Please, just go, don’t come back, don’t ask-- _

He turns back, of course. “Nursey? Is that--is that my shirt?”

_ Shitshitshitshit. _ “Uh…” Derek’s mind goes completely blank.

Dex walks back, one slow step at a time, until he’s standing next to the bunk. “And my blanket and…” He tugs at the afghan, too fast for Derek to block. “And my sweatpants? What happened? You run out of clothes and not have time to go buy more?”

The words are teasing but his voice is gentle. When Derek finally lifts his eyes, just for a second, the expression on Dex’s face takes his breath away a little. He’d expected irritation, anger, confusion, but Dex is looking at him like...like he wants to understand. Like he can see the anxiety trying to shatter Derek into a million pieces from the inside out and he wants to help.

“I’ll wash them,” Derek blurts out, because he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Nursey,” Dex says, and Derek can practically hear his eyes rolling. But then his voice softens, so when he says “Derek,” it sounds almost like a caress. 

“Derek,” he says again. “We share a fucking closet. I’m not worried about your cooties. I’m worried about  _ you _ .”

And that...Derek sucks in a breath but he can feel the tears spilling again. He swallows, hard, trying to force them back down, but they clog his throat, thick and sticky, scratchy and rough. The mattress dips as Dex sits down, only inches away. 

Derek expects more words, more questions he can’t answer without losing it, but Dex just sits there, waiting, his solid presence as comforting here as it is on the ice.

“It helps,” Derek says finally, his voice thick with tears. “To have something soft.”  _ Something that smells like you,  _ he doesn’t add.

“I’ve seen your clothes,” Dex says, his voice simultaneously hesitant and sure. “Derek, you have more soft clothes than I have clothes. If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine, but don’t...don’t lie to me, okay?”

_ Shit.  _ Dex sounds...Derek peeks up from under his lashes. Yeah, Dex has that pinched look he gets around the eyes when something really bothers him.  _ Shit.  _

“They smell like you,” Derek blurts before he can think better of it. Before Dex can leave

Dex shakes his head a little, not in negation, but confusion. “I--what?”

His cheeks are hot, but Derek forges ahead.  _ Might as well get it all out at once. _ “I--this semester has been kinda rough. We’re supposed to have a plan, to know what we’re going to do next, but I...I don’t. And it’s freaking me out. But stuff that smells like you it...helps. It’s....comforting.”

“So, what, you’ve been sneaking my clothes all semester?” Dex asks. “I  _ knew _ my Bruins sweatshirt was clean.”

“I always washed them and put them back,” Derek says defensively, huddling into his corner. “I don’t do it all the time. Just...when I need it.”

He can see Dex’s hand out of the corner of his eye, hovering over his knee, giving him a chance to move away or say no. When it finally comes to rest, landing lightly, Derek can’t believe how good the barely-there touch feels. 

“Derek,” Dex says again, which, this is more than Dex usually uses his first name in a year. “I’m not mad, okay? I just...I guess I don’t understand. Like, why my stuff?”

And there it is, the question Derek was hoping to avoid, hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles. He’s been quite literally backed into a corner here, even though Dex would move in an instant if Derek wanted out. He doesn’t, is the thing. He wants to be where Dex is. He wants to say what he feels, for once, instead of playing it cool.

“You make me feel safe,” he says. It’s the simple truth. He could dress it up in prettier words, but he  _ knows _ Dex, knows that no matter what, the plain words are the best.

He isn’t sure what he expects when he looks at Dex. Shock, maybe. Or pity. Not disgust; he knows Dex too well for that. But Dex is under no obligation to return his feelings--Derek chops off that spiral as sharply as he can and forces his eyes up.

Dex looks surprised, definitely, his lips parted, his brows raised. But there’s a wondering look in his eyes, like he doesn’t believe his ears. He swallows once, hard, then says hesitantly, “Like, in a d-men kind of way?”

It’s Derek’s turn to swallow, but he can’t stop picking at the scab. “Like, in a ‘I have a giant crush on you’ way,” he returns. “Well, can you call it a crush if it’s lasted for almost 4 years?”

A smile spreads slowly across Dex’s face, soft and warm, as he leans closer. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, leaning a little closer into Derek’s space. “You tell me.”

“I--you…” Derek takes a breath, tries to sort out the words in his head. “Really?”

Dex’s smile just widens. “Really,” he says, his voice low and intimate in the hushed quiet of the attic. “You didn’t know? I thought writers were supposed to be observant?”

Derek lifts a hesitant hand to Dex’s shoulder, soft flannel and warm, firm muscle under his fingers. Solid. Real. “You really wanna chirp me now, Poindexter?” 

“No,” Dex says softly, his fingers flexing on Derek’s knee. “I really want to kiss you. The chirping’s just a bonus.”

He closes the distance between them slowly. Derek’s eyes flutter closed at the first soft brush of lips against his, blocking out sight to lose himself in other sensations.

Dex is achingly gentle with him, like Derek might break apart if he’s too rough. It’s delicious, the soft, delicate press of Dex’s lips, but Derek wants more. He licks across Dex’s lips, sucking the lower one into his mouth and savoring the startled noise that Dex makes. He takes advantage of the moment to lick inside Dex’s mouth, chasing the flavor of black coffee and the spearmint gum Dex chews when he’s working in the computer lab. 

“Derek,” Dex gasps when they separate. “We don’t--we don’t have to do anything you don’t want.”

“Will _ iam _ .” Derek does his best to mimic Dex’s tone. “First, I know that. Second, why the fuck do you think I was wearing your clothes? It wasn’t a great substitute, but I figured it was the best I could do.”

Dex’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “I am gonna want those back, you know.”

Derek matches him smirk for smirk, stretching his arms ostentatiously above his head as he lounges back against the pillows, doing his best to look alluring. “Then maybe you should come and get them.”

“Maybe I should,” Dex murmurs, glancing down. 

Derek is suddenly very aware of the fact that Dex’s shirt is slightly too small on him, that it’s ridden up on his stomach, baring his skin to the cool air. Dex’s hands are warm when they land on that strip of skin, his fingers and palms calloused from hockey, from all the work he does. From being Dex, basically.

It sends a shock through Derek’s body, having those hands on his skin. He doesn’t think of himself as particularly touch-starved. Even with Shitty and Ransom and Holster gone, even without Bitty’s hugs or shoulder pats, the team is a tactile bunch. People touch him all the time.

But not like this. Not with slow, worshipful hands, pushing the shirt up and up, sliding reverently over his abs. Dex’s thumbs trace the valley between his pecs, Dex’s palms brush teasingly over his nipples. It’s barely anything, but Derek can’t help the way his back arches, the noise that comes out of his throat. 

Dex licks his lips, curling his hands in the bunched-up fabric of the t-shirt and pulling it up over Derek’s head, up his outstretched arms. He tosses it behind him and leans down to kiss Derek again. 

Derek makes a protesting noise as the buttons on Dex’s flannel dig into his skin. It’s a tiny thing, barely audible, but Dex pulls back immediately, a question in his eyes.

“Buttons,” Derek says, because apparently Dex kissed the ability to speak in complete sentences right out of him. He fingers one of the buttons by way of illustration, slipping it free of its buttonhole. “Poky.’

A fond smile replaces Dex’s worried expression, and he starts unbuttoning from the bottom as Derek works his way down from the top. They meet in the middle and Derek wastes no time pushing the flannel off Dex’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as he drags Dex down for another kiss.

Just the soft fabric of Dex’s undershirt between them, warmed from his body heat, is so much better. It’s amazing, really, Dex’s mouth on his, kissing him like this is the only thing in the world he wants to be doing, Dex’s comforting weight above him. Derek is surrounded by softness; soft clothes, soft blankets, soft pillows, soft kisses. Soft Dex.

Dex shifts above him, pressing his lips to the underside of Derek’s jaw. The movement draws Derek’s attention to the fact that he is achingly hard and so is Dex, their cocks brushing up against each other in a way that sends lightning shooting down Derek’s spine. 

He can tell Dex feels it too, from the way he shivers all over, the way his lips curve against Derek’s skin. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice low and rich, his breath raising goosebumps on Derek’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, rolling his hips up just to feel that delicious friction again. It’s even better the second time. “Yeah, Dex, please.”

Dex lifts his head, his face serious, and Derek worries for a second that he did something wrong. “You were using my real name a minute ago.”

_ Oh. _ “Will,” he says, letting his lips shape the name he hasn’t dared say out loud before this moment. “Please.”

“Yeah,” Will murmurs, pressing his mouth to Derek’s again, soft and sweet and warm. “Let me take care of you, okay?”

His next kiss lands on Derek’s neck, just under his jaw again, then lower. He kisses his way down Derek’s neck, over his collarbone, his mouth reversing the path his hands had taken. Derek closes his eyes, lets himself sink back into the bed. He’ll move in a minute, he’ll do something for Will. In a minute, when he can think, when he’s not distracted by Will’s gentle mouth against his skin.

“Derek,” Will says softly, his breath blowing warm and wet over Derek’s nipple. 

Derek shivers, so sensitized that even that not-really-there touch has sparks dancing across his skin. He misses what Will says next, too focused on the physical sensations. “Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little. “What?”

Will’s smile is slightly smug when Derek opens his eyes, but he can’t really bring himself to mind. “I  _ said, _ ” Will says, his voice exaggeratedly patient, “can I blow you?”

“God,” Derek breathes, his whole body locking up at the mental image. “Um, yeah?”

A wet, pink tongue flicks over his nipple, a barely-there touch that still has Derek trying to shoot up off the bed. “I don’t know,” Will muses, still looking smug as shit when he leans over to do the same to Derek’s other nipple. “Does that actually qualify as enthusiastic consent?”

“Jesus  _ fuck,” _ Derek says fervently. Will is lingering, alternating little kitten licks with slow circles of his tongue, because apparently he’s a sadist. Derek had never thought of his nipples as particularly sensitive, but Will is  _ killing _ him and he hasn’t even taken his pants off. “Will,  _ please… _ ”

Will purses his lips, blowing lightly across the wet, crinkled skin of Derek’s nipple and  _ holy shit _ . Derek’s pretty sure that smile is going to be the death of him.

“I guess that works,” Will says, shifting lower on the bed and tracing his way down Derek’s abs with that terrible, talented tongue. “I  _ am _ gonna want my pants back.”

“Is that why you’re trying to make me come in them?” Derek retorts. He’s proud of himself for getting a complete sentence out, but then Will catches the waistband of the sweatpants and Derek’s boxers  _ in his teeth _ , looking up at Derek under red-gold lashes before pulling them down, and that’s it. This is how Derek dies.

He lifts his hips to help, his cock springing free into the cool air, his pulse a desperate drumbeat under his skin. Will uses his hands to push the clothing all the way off, skimming them back up Derek’s legs to his hips. He looks so good, crawling up between Derek’s legs, his mouth wet and red from kissing, that Derek half-suspects he’s dreaming. But none of his dreams have ever been so vivid, so detailed. He’s pretty sure he couldn’t have dreamed the feeling of Will’s thumbs stroking over his hipbone, the hair on Will’s legs that rasps against his inner thighs, the soft look in Will’s eyes.

“Still good?” Will asks, like Derek’s cock isn’t  _ right there, _ hard and leaking and straining upward toward his face.

“Yeah,” Derek rasps, his mouth gone dry. “Yeah, please, Will.”

He’s fully prepared to beg, if he has to--something tells him Will might like that--but the next moment Will’s hand curls around the base of his cock and that simple touch is good enough to make him shiver.

When Will’s tongue flicks across the head before circling around, Derek can’t hold back a whimper. It’s ridiculous, Will’s barely even touched him, but he feels like he’s been balancing on this edge forever, turned on and desperate to come. The wet heat of Will’s mouth closes around him and it’s so much, it’s so good, but it’s not...it’s not enough, it’s not what he needs. 

It takes a couple of tries, his hands clumsy with arousal, but Derek finally manages to get his hands around Will’s arms and tug him upward.

“I...I need you closer,” Derek blurts out, his eyes fixed on Will’s chest so he won’t have to see disappointment or annoyance. But when Will’s fingers slide under his chin, tipping his face up, all he sees in Will’s eyes is warmth and softness. “Like...like before.”

“Whatever you need, baby.” Will leans back, stripping off his t-shirt and tossing it to the floor. It takes a bit of maneuvering for him to get out of his jeans and boxers without having to climb out of Derek’s bed, but he finally manages it.

Will crawls slowly up Derek’s body, nothing between them, just skin on skin. When he finally gets close enough to kiss, Derek has never been so grateful for their similar heights as he is in that moment. Will’s mouth is on his, Will’s body pressing him into the mattress, Will’s cock pressing up against his. They fit together perfectly, like that old myth about soulmates, but then Will lifts his head and starts to move, a slow, languid grind, and the fanciful thought flies right out of Derek’s head in the face of this sudden sensory overload.

This is what he needed; the intimacy of skin against skin. He’s naked, but he’s still surrounded by Will, all his senses full of Will. The scent and texture of his skin, the sound of his breath, the taste of his mouth lingering on Derek’s lips. The sight of him, flushed and gorgeous above Derek. 

“Will,” he breathes, the only word that wants to fall from his lips. “God, Will…”

Will shudders above him, his smooth rhythm gone jerky for a moment. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a soft rasp. “You feel so good, Derek, I’m so close.”

“Me too.” Derek curls a hand around the back of Will’s neck to keep him close, rolling his hips up. It’s a wonder; Will Poindexter is 6’2” of lean, efficient muscle, but Derek can make him shake just by grinding up against him, by saying his name. “Will,” he says again, just to feel that movement ripple through Will’s body.

“God, Derek,” Will gasps, capturing his mouth again in a hungry desperate kiss. He moves faster now, chasing something, and Derek matches him, the urgency passed between them without speaking. 

They pant into each other’s mouths when they break the kiss, moving together with the same synchronicity they bring to the ice, chasing orgasm together. “Come on, baby,” Will breathes, his eyes a dark, intent ring of gold around the black of his pupil. “Come on, want you to come for me, you can do it--”

Derek has no idea what tips him over the edge, if it’s the softness in Will’s eyes or the endearment on his lips or the physical sensation of his body. But whatever it is, he’s coming, his fingers digging into Will’s neck as he arches up, spilling wet and messy between their bodies. He can feel Will’s groan rumbling through their bodies, the sudden jerkiness of his movements before he goes still.

When Derek comes down enough to pay conscious attention to physical sensation again, Will’s face is tucked into the side of his neck, coppery hair tickling his ear. Will’s breath, still coming fast, is warm and humid against his skin, and he can feel Will’s heart hammering like it’s in his own chest. He strokes his hand down Will’s back and Will shudders once before slowly pushing himself up and rolling to the side.

A protesting noise escapes Derek before he can help himself. Will just shoots him an amused look, grabbing something off the floor before rolling back to wipe off Derek’s stomach, then his own, before tossing the soiled t-shirt into the laundry basket against the wall. He comes back willingly (Derek can’t help snorting a little to himself at the wordplay) when Derek gives him a pitiful look. It takes a bit of maneuvering to figure out how to fit both of them on the twin mattress, but finally Will is spooned up behind him, an arm wrapped around his waist and Derek’s softest blanket pulled up over both of them.

“You going to sleep on me, baby?” Will asks, his voice fond as he kisses the back of Derek’s neck. 

Derek laces his fingers and Will’s together, wriggling a little just to be sure there’s no way they could get closer. “Maybe. For some reason I’m really relaxed right now.”

“Then sleep.” Will punctuates the sentence with another soft press of his lips. “I’ve got you.”

Derek’s last thought before he falls asleep is.  _ Yeah. You do. _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you like dumb hockey boys, dumb hot celebrities, and other random stuff, you might enjoy [following me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com). Comments and kudos always make me smile!!! (ETA: Unless they're asking me why I haven't updated another fic. Then they send me into an anxiety spiral where I want to never update that fic again)


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